


Not Your Average 9 to 5

by notafamousperson



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Humor, M/M, Picnics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-25
Updated: 2014-09-25
Packaged: 2018-02-18 17:22:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2356418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notafamousperson/pseuds/notafamousperson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>""I just wanted to take you on a picnic because you're a weirdo who likes being outside more than playing video games! Does there have to be a reason?" Stiles yells. The blush is back, working its way up his neck, and his heartbeat is going crazy. Derek should stop. He should really, really, stop, he should let Stiles calm down so they can have a conversation like adults.</p><p>"Did you kill someone?" Derek asks before he can stop himself."</p><p>They've got a day off, and the last thing Derek expected was for Stiles to show up and take him on a picnic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Your Average 9 to 5

**Author's Note:**

> This is nothing but schmoopy, fluffy, schmoop. Cavities are a possibility. Read at your own risk.

"We're going on a picnic." Stiles says as he walks into the loft. Carrying a picnic basket. A picnic basket with a red and white checkered blanket on top. What the _hell_.

"What." Derek says in response, because _what._

"I said, we, as in, you and me, are going to take this blanket and this basket full of various foods, and we're going to go somewhere surrounded by trees, and we're going to eat this food while sitting on the blanket." Stiles finishes, sounding confident. Derek isn't fooled; he can smell the nerves rolling off Stiles in waves. It sets him on edge.

Derek is at a loss for words. He doesn't know _what to say_. It isn't like his usual silence, where he has too much to say to settle upon one thing, deciding to use his eyebrows to communicate instead. He _really_  doesn't have a single thing to say.

Stiles, sensing this, blurts out, "that is, if you want to. I mean, I wouldn't blame you if you didn't want to. I'm just some weird teenager that hangs out with-"

"No, it's just-" Derek cuts him off, but then pauses. What is he supposed to say? The last thing he expected to happen today was for Stiles to show up to take him on a picnic. He settles on, "it rained yesterday."

"So? What, you afraid of a little mud? I will admit, I'm not looking forward to the smell of wet dog, but I can overlook that." Derek rolls his eyes. "Come on, Derek," he whines, "there's no crazy alphas chasing us, no alpha _packs_  out to get us, no kanimas, no _faeries_ ," Stiles shudders. "Think of this as, like, a day off. A vacation day from our 9 to 5."

And you know what? Stiles is right, as weird as that is to admit. They finally have a break. "Fine. We'll leave in ten. And we're taking my car."

•

They drive in a silence that is a little too awkward, until Stiles turns on the radio. Derek smacks his hand away and glares at him.

"Oh, come on! You don't like Beyoncé?" Stiles says, turning the radio up a few notches and singing, quite loudly, " _drunk in looooooove!_ "

"No, I don't think I do," Derek says. He changes the station to some song that came out before he was born. Then, Stiles changes it to another station playing, "All of Today's Hits!" Derek smacks his hand away again and turns the radio off.

Stiles' lips quirk up. He turns the radio back on.

"Stiles." Derek makes brief eye contact with him before turning his eyes back to the road. The last thing he wants is to have to explain to the Sheriff that he killed his son because they were arguing over the radio. Oddly enough, Stiles' heartbeat jumps. Derek is confused, but he decides not to mention it.

"I love this song!" Stiles shouts suddenly, scrambling for the volume dial. He turns it up and nods his head back and forth so violently that it makes Derek's neck ache in sympathy. Derek rolls his eyes again, because that's all he can do when he's with Stiles.

•

"Okay, so where should we set up camp?" Stiles asks when they're both out of Derek's car. He's swinging the basket back and forth, and Derek can smell the different things he has packed away. Baguettes, a container of Oreos, Funyuns, and two sodas. A weird combination of food, but he's come to expect anything but normalcy from Stiles.

"Follow me," Derek says, turning left and listening for Stiles' footsteps behind him. He hears him trip over three different tree roots before he stops and Stiles runs into his back then falls to the ground. "This is a good spot," Derek says, looking at a grossed out Stiles on the ground.

"Ugh, gross, are you sure? There's like, mud. All over the place." Stiles complains. Derek can't summon the energy to be annoyed.

"I thought you said that you were okay with a little mud? Change your mind?" Derek replies, spreading the blanket out and sitting down. Stiles crawls next to him, setting the basket in between them.

Stiles is quick to respond, "no, it's just- There's a lot of. Mud."

"You're not an outside person, are you." Derek says, a statement rather than a question.

"What? Of course I am! I love the outdoors! All the, the sun, I definitely like the sun. You know, we'd be dead without the sun. And I like the- the grass, it's very green. Well, sometimes it can get sort of yellow, but that's mostly in the winter or if you don't take care of it. Or droughts. That can kill grass. And dead grass isn't good grass. What was the question again?" Stiles blurts.

"Stiles. I wouldn't even need to be a werewolf to tell that was a lie. What's going on," Derek says, watching Stiles squirm under his gaze.

"Uh, well." Stiles says, then he stops, and Derek realizes that Stiles is _blushing_. His cheeks are turning pink, and the tips of his ears are very red.

" _Stiles_." Derek presses, because he has no idea what's going on, and he doesn't like not knowing what's going through people's heads when they decide to take him out into the woods. Alone. Not because he's afraid for his own safety, he knows he can protect himself. It's others that he's worried about.

 

"Because, um. You like the outdoors, and being outside, and well. Nature, right?" Stiles asks him. The nervous energy coming off Stiles is strong enough to think that he's about to admit to murdering an innocent person and hiding the body in the woods. That thought just makes Derek nervous. Which is stupid, because Stiles killing someone? Not likely. Stiles' emotions are rubbing off on Derek, Jesus.

"Yes. What does this have to do with anything?" Derek asks.

 

"I just wanted to take you on a picnic because you're a weirdo who likes being outside more than playing video games! Does there have to be a reason?" Stiles yells. The blush is back, working its way up his neck, and his heartbeat is going crazy. Derek should stop. He should really, really, stop, he should let Stiles calm down so they can have a conversation like adults.

"Did you kill someone?" Derek asks before he can stop himself.

"What? No," Stiles looks at him with confusion clear on his face, and Derek is relieved to find that his heartbeat keeps the same even, faster-than-normal beat. So he doesn't need Derek to hide a body. That's good.

"Okay, then why are you so nervous?" Derek asks next. Might as well get straight to the point.

"Because- I- Oh my god why is this so hard. Okay. So, you know how we like, hated each other at first? Or, you tolerated me, and I almost cut off your arm for you because you scared the crap out of me? Well, it's like Pokémon. We, uh. We _evolved_ , so to speak. Like, I'm not scared of you anymore, okay maybe sometimes you can be intimidating, and you aren't as annoyed by me as you used to be. Well, you're still annoyed by me, but it's more of a fond irritation. Like a pet that eats your shoes but you still like the pet because it's yours. You get me?" Stiles rambles, making violent motions with his hands.

"You're my... annoying pet?" Derek asks, because that's all he got from that entire rant, and Stiles' heartbeat is still much faster than it should be.

Stiles frowns, "No! That's- That's not what I'm trying to say. What I'm trying to say is, me and you. Us. Both of us, me and you, are less reluctant to be friends than we used to be. Like, before, you would-"

"I know about before. Get to the point." Derek says. He thinks he knows what's going on, but he can never be sure with Stiles. He has to be sure before he does something he'll regret.

"Okay. Alright. The point. That would be, that I took you on a picnic because I was going to tell you that I not-platonically liked you, like, I _like_ like you, and I have the sneaking suspicion that you might not-platonically like me, based on the lingering stares, and-"

And Stiles doesn't get to finish his sentence, because Derek kisses him, the picnic basket between them forgotten, because this is the last thing he expected to happen today, but it's the best thing that could have happened.

Because, you know what, Stiles is right, as weird as that is to admit twice in one day. The stares are pretty lingering, and he can only guess at what else Stiles was going to say, but that's not the point because Stiles and Derek are kissing. Lips on lips, deep, hard kissing. And it is _amazing_.

Stiles seems to think so too, based on the sighs and surprised moans he lets out.

•

The kissing only lasted for so long before Stiles broke off to breathe, and his stomach grumbled in complaint of the lack of food in it. "Sorry," he said, "I'm still a teenager. We eat, like, three tons a day."

So, they opened up the picnic basket, and Stiles distributed the food.

"Some sourdough for my sourwolf," Stiles says, and he seems so proud of himself for the joke that Derek can't bring himself to tell him that he's handing him a baguette. It's a common mistake, after all.

"Thanks," Derek says, smiling at him.

"Holy _crap_." Stiles shrieks, dropping his own half of the baguette onto the blanket.

"What? What's wrong?" Derek asks urgently, looking around for anything running at them with claws raised, but there's nothing there. The woods are, other than Stiles' shouts, peaceful. Calm.

"You just. _Smiled_. Like, teeth-showing, blind-you-with-how-white-they-are, smiled. You, Derek Hale, brooder, Master of Brooding, are capable of smiling." Stiles says. Derek shoves him sideways, and he falls back with a huff. He doesn't bother getting up, reaching blindly for his baguette and taking a huge bite when he finally grabs it. Then, he stuffs the wad of bread to his cheek and says, "so, does this mean that we're," he gestures between the two of them with his bread, "a thing?"

"If you want us to be," Derek responds.

"Okay," Stiles leans up and looks Derek in the eyes. "Derek Hale, will you not-platonically date me?"

Derek rolls his eyes and pushes Stiles over again.

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> And they both lived not-platonically ever after. The end. Maybe.


End file.
